Ryan Spilborghs enjoys off day at a Karaoke bar with a teammate Yoneno-san. (Courtesy Ryan Spilborghs).

Ryan Spilborghs spent six seasons as an outfielder with the Colorado Rockies, becoming a fan favorite for his walk-up music (“Sweet Escape”), myriad of mustaches, car commercials and his big hits (like his grand slam against the Giants). Spilborghs hit .272 with 42 home runs and .345 on-base percentage in 619 games with the Rockies.

I wouldn’t say I have writer’s block because then I would be saying that I consider myself a writer. I think I’m at a point where I don’t feel like giving an update on what I’m doing at this moment. Instead I feel like giving you a “best of” type short stories of some specific things that have happened to during this season:

“The day the music died”

Anyone who experiences live baseball events knows a player’s entrance or “walk up” song is extremely important to both the player and the fans. It stirs emotions for the preceding moments that follow. When you hear “Enter Sandman” you know Mariano Rivera is about to slam the door, hear the laugh of Ozzy Osbourne in “Crazy Train” and Chipper Jones would be strutting towards the plate. Walk up songs are baseball’s way of programming a fans mind much like Pavlov’s dogs to start drooling when a certain player is about to play.

Baseball is funny. It’s a team sport where players have individual battles. Much of the time a player feels like he’s on his own island, stranded and left to fight for himself. Players choose songs for different reasons: they like the song, it pumps them up, it’s a joke, maybe it says something in the lyrics they want you to hear or they simply want fan participation. I always picked my songs on very simple criteria, was the song known and catchy, I always shied away from rap, country and heavy metal, not cause I didn’t like it, but because it was too easy to pick one. I loved fan participation, if I could find a song that got people to sing while I came up to hit I felt like it pushed people’s eyes on me, and believe it or not when you feel the crowd behind you, there is a shot of adrenaline that helps you compete. So coming to Japan this year I always have in the back of my mind a song to pump me up and the crowd.

At first I was leaning towards Simple Minds “Don’t forget about me.” I figured Japanese liked 80’s rock and it had a nice hook that I figured they could sing to. In the states I think it would have been a great song, here, crickets. Japanese players songs are a stark contrast to the states (by the way, the train up north is beautiful, much of the time people on trains fail to look around, we are so busy reading a paper or playing with a tablet to notice anything around us, makes me sad thinking that checking our Twitter or Facebook, things that make us feel connected to the world disconnect us to the simplest of all our senses, sight and what is actually physically around us and important).

Japanese players pick slow songs, I’ve heard a couple ballads by relief pitchers, but the thing here is that Japanese love their native music, so all songs are sung. But the other difference is that a walk up song isn’t needed to spur the attention of the crowd. Teams cheering sections are involved in every player’s at-bat. Some players even have their own song and dance. I wish this would be adopted in the states but it takes an effort, and honestly American baseball fans are far more reserved and would find cheering sections annoying like someone talking too loudly on their cell phones.

Chiba Lotte has by far the best cheering section in Japan. Apparently the fans were soccer fans who adopted the Marines. They are all in from the first pitch. They are animated and loud, the antithesis of MLB fans. They have almost a cult/gang like presence, it’s almost cool and rebellious to be a Marines fans. Many adorn bandanas over their face and hold up flags of Che Guevara in a Chiba uniform. The point I’m getting at is that a walk-up song here is much more personal for the crowd. It’s why after one of the many times I failed to get a two-out RBI I was approached recently by a coach to change my song.

During the first day of spring training in Nango, the first song I heard over the loud speakers at the stadium was some space pop song with a very high pitched female singer repeating the chorus “fashion monster!” The song was extremely annoying. But it was also on continuous repeat and saturated into my mind. It’s like when “mambo #5” or “whoop there it is” gets planted in your head, and you can’t help but repeat it. Your brain tells your mouth to sing it and your self-conscious wakes up and says “hey! Stop singing that!” So after a brief attempt at getting Simple Minds popular again in Japan (I’m assuming a lot right here), I was asked prior to the season starting, “what Japanese walk up song would you like?” Of course the way my mind works is by blurting out the first stupid thought that comes to mind, “fashion monster!”, and now to the dismay of my teammates, coaches and myself, every time I waltz towards the plate the voice of Kyary Pamyu Pamyu blurts those damn words.

The worst/best part is the fans love the song, I’m always approached on trains and other places that I can get recognized, “Hey! Spilly-San! Fashion Monster!” Usually with great enthusiasm that I would choose a Japanese song, I smile and nod and say to myself, “nice choice nerd”.

Ryan Spilborghs’ uniform with the Seibu Lions in Japan. The players switch their jerseys several times during games because of the stifling humidity. (Courtesy of Ryan Spilborghs).

Like I mentioned earlier, it was during bp a couple weeks ago the day after I failed to get a 2-out RBI, the coach asked me to change my song because he felt it lacked “fighting spirit”, meaning, “you stink, and maybe changing your walk-up song would make you less stinky.” I told him I really don’t care about my song to go ahead and change it for me. So that night he did, and when I walked up to the plate the song from the movie “Over The top”, a classic in my opinion, starring Sylvester Stallone as an arm wrestling truck driver was playing.

Honestly I hated the song, it actually made me upset when I walked to the plate, I guess it served its purpose, but after a couple days I couldn’t take it anymore. I’ve been listening to Macklemore of late (he’s a Seattle rapper that is fairly political and relevant), and went against my usual rule of thumb and changed the newer song to “Thrift Shop.” The start of the song has a cool beat, and I like how it repeats “what, what, what”, the problem was my waltz to the plate takes about 20 seconds and gives the song plenty of time to drop quite a few expletives, none of which really matter in Japan since I’ve heard worse at other parks.

The biggest problem happened when Randy Williams asked about my new song and if there was a cleaner version, since his three kids come to the games. I apologized and told him, “honestly I could give a rat’s behind about my dang song this year”. So I’ve come full circle, back to “fashion monster”, it is what it is, maybe it lacks “fighting spirit”, but that all changes with an RBI. Which it did after the first at-bat back with that damn song playing, go figure.

“Boys will be boys”

I remember this game for two reasons, it was the last time I hit a homer (been like 60 abs) and I was in the middle of a bench clearer. We were playing a country game against Rakuten Eagles in Omiya, a city in Saitama. It’s about an hour away from Seibu dome. Funny thing, it’s really only 20 miles away, but with how crowded everything in the Tokyo area is, it feels like you’re going to another state hours away. I’ve mentioned country games before, they are big league games played in stadiums that aren’t normally used.

In fact the fields are usually less than ideal. Many of the country games are played fairly sloppily, as playing surfaces aren’t the usual turf since none of the fields are domed. Japanese infielders are amazing fielders on turf. They cover so much ground, far more than the typical big league infielder. But put them on the all dirt infield or a standard infield and their range and fundamentals change pretty drastically.

I really do love the idea and practice of the country game. As a player they aren’t very easy for us, we have to travel quite a bit to play the game, usually it’s only one game followed by another one at another remote venue. We have to change hotels after one night, and since we travel by train, our luggage is usually sent the night before, meaning you have to pack uniforms and have extra stuff packed because laundry isn’t usually available to you the next day. It really gets quite confusing to say the least. But as a fan, the experience is awesome, having your area’s team come to your city has got to be exciting, and the games are always packed and crowds are usually more rowdy than normal. This night was no exception.

Rakuten has been probably our biggest rival up to that point in the season, they were in first place (still are) and had just kicked our tails at our home dome. Andruw Jones, Casey McGehee, and one of my favorite teammates of all time Kaz Matsui all play and have had great years so far. Their team has good pitching, great defense and a very solid lineup. Needless to say, they are good. I had just been starting to get hot. I’ve pretty much gotten a hit in every game for the last month or so, it may only be 1-4 every game, but I’m getting hits consistently. Anyway, I hit a homer in my first at bat, and of course I think I’m about to get 4 hits that night.

Well in the first inning with runners at 1st and 3rd and one out Casey McGehee hit a chopper to Esteban at third. He threw the ball over to second to start the inning-ending double play when Andruw Jones slid hard into our second baseman, he ended up breaking up the double play and seriously hurting our player, who stayed in game one more play till he had to come out of the game. He still hasn’t played since and it’s been a month. The play wasn’t dirty, but it did hurt our player, and it extended the inning and gave them a 1-0 lead. They ended up scoring 3 more runs after that play. Andruw in a later at bat got hit by an 0-2 pitch on his wrist. I think it was a slider that hit him. His side swore it was a fastball.

Either way, baseball is played with a set of unwritten rules, one of which you don’t steal a base if you’re winning by more than five or six runs late in the game, another is if you purposely hit a player or hurt someone, the other team is gonna hit you. In this case Rakuten wasn’t stealing on us, and we didn’t really view Jones slide as dirty, just hard baseball amongst two good teams, so when he got hit it was far more an accident than a retaliation of an earlier play.

Ryan Spilborghs, Troy Tulowitzki, Jason Giambi and Todd Helton share a laugh during warmups at Salt River Fields in 2011. Spilborghs was always known as a ‘good teammate’ in Colorado, helping relieve the mundane of the season with his levity. (John Leyba, The Denver Post)

Well, Andruw took quite an exception to the hit by pitch. He was hit hard on the wrist, and it helped fuel another big inning for them. By the time the bottom of the ninth rolled around the score was quite out of hand, and the three game sweep of the lions was more or less sealed. We had been outscored in the series by about 20 runs. I came to the plate with two outs hoping to salvage a game where I had a hit in my first at bat and none the next two. As a hitter, especially in a blowout game, getting a hit in your last at bat or a walk can have very positive influence on your next game and your overall feeling of a bad loss. Losses have varying levels of frustration.

A heartbreaking 1-0 loss hurts far worse than simply getting your tail handed to you. So when the first pitch of this personally important at bat sailed well beyond my back I was completely caught off guard. Most guys know when a pitcher is gonna throw at you. There are many things that lead up to the moment when someone throws at you.

In my career I can’t remember ever being thrown at for two reasons: I usually didn’t do anything to deserve getting thrown at (breaking an unwritten rule; stealing a base, showing up a pitcher, or injuring a player on a dirty play), and I was never the best player on the team. Usually if a good player gets hit, the other team’s good player gets hit. I’ve been neither. As that ball sailed around me I immediately walked towards the pitcher wondering what the “blank” was he trying to do. I would have been less upset if he just squared me up and drilled me in the back, at least he had the nerve to hit me, throwing behind me just flat (bleeped) me off.

As I walked toward the mound I had no real intention to fight, it was never foreshadowed that it would be a possibility. Of course taking those steps towards the mound cleared the benches. Our manager was sticking up for me and our team and wanted them to stop. They basically where throwing sand in our eye, and we didn’t respond too well. There were no punches thrown but there were lines drawn in the sand and this rivalry between two good teams turned personal. Honestly, it’s way more fun to play against a team where there is bad blood than a team your friendly with. After the dust, we returned to playing the game. Nobody got ejected and I was forced to face this guy again with far more on the line.

Emotions in baseball are great for players. It is better to play angry at times than happy, but too much anger leads to trying to do too much, as I had no other thought in the world than to hit the biggest home run of my life! There was only gonna be two outcomes at that point in my at bat: I was gonna crush a ball off him or he was gonna strike me out. We had an epic battle, the entire crowd screaming at a fevered pitch, both dugouts on their feet screaming at one another, I was fouling off pitch after pitch as his only objective was to strike me out. He neither challenged me or caved in, always throwing his best slider, and teasing me with high fastballs, both which I fouled off with a big swing or barely laid off. Sadly, after a nine-pitch at bat he struck me out with a slider I swung through. It must have been like “Casey at the Bat” for that five-minute crescendo of baseball bliss. He popped off the mound and did his best Dennis Eckersley, his team screaming after winning the game 10-1. All the while I burned a hole in his head with my eyes.

My wife laughed at me when I showed her the YouTube video of the incident (can’t watch it in states for some licensing reasons, tell me about it. You know how many things are blocked from me trying to watch here in Japan that I can’t because of licensing in the states) on my iPhone through FaceTime on my iPad (no Apple doesn’t pay me), “ahhhhhh, boys will be boys”, she said, I laughed to, but I told her, “I won’t forget”, and payback is a female dog in heat.

“If you can’t take the heat…get an iv drip”

Let me start off by saying I don’t do well in heat. My mom was the same way. We both get flushed and uncomfortable, funny thing too because you would assume that since my mom was from Guatemala and lived on the outskirts of the rain-forest that neighbors Guatemala City that she would be conditioned for it. Growing up in Santa Barbara, where the climate is consistently referred to as paradise, it rarely gets too hot or cold. The average temperature throughout the year in Santa Barbara is about 68 degrees, thanks in large part to being seated gently between the Pacific Ocean and the blue mountains of Los Padres national forest. There is also a group of islands called the “channel islands” that serve as a breakwater from the swells of the Pacific.

Not that it helps the temperature much but they are beautiful and thought it would be nice to rub that in your face too. Needless to say I didn’t grow up battling much of the elements, in fact despite being a beach town I would say the climate made it easier for me to adapt to the cold weather of Colorado. Nights in Santa Barbara can often be cool as the ocean air and early dusk fog drop the temperature quite a bit. Typical year-round attire in my “hood” are flip flops, shorts, a tee shirt and a sweater. Once I began my journey through the minors is when I really started to experience the different types of heat throughout the different minor league cities. Some heat is more bearable than others, like it’s hotter in Boise than the same temperature in Las Vegas, and a hot day in Savanna, Georgia is what I imagine hell being like with the humidity making it almost impossible to breath.

To me, dry heat is bearable, humid heat is unbearable. I always dreaded late-season trips to Washington, D.C. or Cincinnati, Ohio once the humid heat came out around August. Japan has featured every kind of weather possible: it’s been cold, then rainy and windy, now it’s hot and humid.

Ryan Spilborghs became dehydrated recently, learning a hard lesson that water isn’t enough to keep his body healthy. (Courtesy of Ryan Spilborghs).

I guess Tokyo shares the same latitude as New York City so the climates are almost identical. There is a reason most stadiums in Japan are domed. Without the domes many more games would be rained out. It is also why most fields are turfed (league schedule has two blocks of time to make up rain outs, before all star break and in September). Our Seibu dome wasn’t originally a dome. In fact it was an outdoor stadium. Guys told me after the Boston Red Sox paid about $50 million to post Daisuke Matsuzaka from the Lions, the team reinvested the money in putting a dome over the current field. I later found out the dome was put up 10 years before that actually happened. I wouldn’t call it a dome though, it is, but it’s also open, in fact it’s more of an umbrella than an actual dome, players often joke and call it the “sauna” dome.

Despite the entire circumference of the field being open between ground and the rafters that support the dome, there is little air circulation provided. In fact it’s a quagmire of hot air. The field is also built into a hill so prior to the dome,it was already naturally protected against the wind (The area around the dome is truly beautiful, surrounded by trees and a large river about half a mile away, it easily my favorite area that surrounds any stadium in Japan). Once the weather changed in late June to the heat and humidity of July, players had to start taking more changes of uniforms to the field (Japanese players already change their undershirts during practice and games, and the heat only doubles their efforts). Just walking from the train to the stadium, about a five-minute walk and your street clothes would have a nice layer of perspiration.

During batting practice alone I would have to change shirts and batting gloves as they would be soaked. I usually drink quite a bit of water but I didn’t realize how much I was sweating until I weighed myself and saw I lost a couple pounds in less than a week. My routine up to that point in the season was arriving at the stadium about 1 pm for a 6 pm game, take early hitting at 2, regular batting practice, and work on my jumps from right field for the balls over my head. It was a large work load, and then I would play the game. Guys always laughed at how much I sweat as I would be soaked after an at bat and my seat on the bench was littered with about 8 empty bottles of water. We had a small heat wave during our seven-game homestand.

It was about 95 degrees outside, but with 60 percent humidity, and being in that dome it felt more like a 110. The night after our last game and before our next days practice and travel day to Sendai I felt fine, tired from a long week, but fine. When I woke up around 6 a.m. with a pounding headache I was a bit surprised since I didn’t get over served the night before at dinner, I walked to the bathroom and found my whole body was aching and it was hard to move. It felt like I had a really big workout and had the flu at the same time. I stumbled back to bed and pounded some water and tried to sleep before I had to get up two hours later for practice and travel. Once awake I felt worse, it hurt to shower, and I felt like I was in a deep fog. I knew something wasn’t right, I boarded the train and was freezing, I was covered in sweat but it was fairly warm out. I text my interpreter that I wasn’t feeling right. Confused I got off the train and missed my exit. Once at the field I went straight to the trainers room and told them how I felt, they took my temperature which was over 102 and rushed me to the hospital.

Japanese hospitals are no different than the states. That’s more of a knock on how long it takes to get insurance and all the other paperwork processed. After about an hour I was taken to a room that was occupied by many beds and older people attached to iv drips. I felt out of place and right at home at the same time. I hate needles but graciously accepted mine. After about an hour and a half I was free to go, I jumped on a train and traveled the three hours to Sendai, sleeping the whole way. I got to my hotel, and slept from 6 p.m. well into the next day, waking to order a bowl of rice, and having to frequent the bathroom. They don’t tell you but heat exhaustion takes it out of you. My two beds in my hotel room were both covered in sweat from the times I slept in them.

The first time I woke up I literally thought I spilled a gallon of water in my bed. The next day I limped into the hitters meeting at the hotel, looking pale and fragile. It was a big series for us seeing that we were about to play three games against the Eagles from whom we had just cleared benches with the week before. I assumed I wasn’t gonna be in the lineup since I was in the hospital less the 24 hours ago, but there I was hitting 6th but as the designated hitter. I had been playing right the last 10 games. They said “dh? Ok?”, umm, ya I guess. See Sendai is a lot cooler than Tokyo, it was actually a cold and rainy day, and they figured I could sit and relax and just hit and I would be safe from over heating again. I played the next two games, going 1-5 the first game, and 0-4 the next, that after sleeping only about three hours having to go bathroom every ten minutes, I was miserable. During those games my stomach felt awful, I spent half those games sitting in a bathroom stall, but I did my best to compete. I usually suggest never play if you feel less than 80%. I tried that once for half a season in the MLB and look where that got me.

By the third game of the series I felt normal again, of course I wasn’t in lineup after going “0-fer” the night before. It served me right though for playing hero. Sometimes good guys come in last. We won that series thankfully over the Eagles with little drama. I learned some lessons though, I’m not quite built for a hot climate, so I can’t over exert myself in the heat. I also need to drink more sports drinks with electrolytes than water, I also need to bring petroleum jelly from home so I don’t have to act out the charades to find it in a Japanese pharmacy.

“Billie jean is not my lover, or a very good song for me to sing”

There are many rites of passage within a baseball team, even more so when you are immersed in a new culture. The obvious I’ve done so far have been speaking to the team, “Spilly desu, Yoroshiku Onegaishimasu”(Like asking for your respect), eating some of their food (nanto is fermented beans, smells like feet, but with soy sauce and seaweed paper is more than tolerable) and participating in any and all drills or gestures that may be shown. More than anything, like in any culture or new group you’re trying to assimilate to, showing an interest and attempting to participate in all that is new, is more than a way to earn your place amongst the natives. When I started the season in the minors I was forced to learn and participate at the minor league side without any translator. It was difficult at first, but very rewarding. It was the quickest way to learn the language, my new teammates and the environment. Obviously certain people are drawn to you for several reasons.

On a baseball field being at the same position and speaking some English were my simple criteria for being my new best friend. I found Yoneno-san. We are about the same age, and he reminded me a lot of my basketball buddy Kyle Korver (shooting guard that looks like Ashton Kutcher, kind of a stretch, but they have similar haircuts). Yoneno was traded to the Lions a couple years before from Orix Buffaloes, and similarly is a bit of an outsider. There is something about being in one organization and homegrown that does that to new guys coming in. He’s a really good hitter, he’s funny, and he stretches all the time, and we bonded right away. On off days he would take me to the beach, or a river for a bbq with the guys. He would always take me to a new restaurant to try (I literally will eat anything, and or try something at least once).

One night after one of our day-off adventures, he took me into a karaoke bar. I’ve always been given the moniker of being a good teammate, that term can be a little deceiving, in my opinion after spending years in professional baseball. A “good teammate” is code, like “charming” to real estate meaning small. A “good teammate” is far from just a clubhouse term, you earn that distinction by being someone that is good company, on and off the field.

Now, just cause you’re a “good teammate” I don’t want you thinking that it means the guy is raising hell out every night at a bar. He may, but most likely he’s the guy that will go to dinner with you, have libations with you, and make the evening outside of a hotel room enjoyable. This karaoke bar is hidden in shinjuku behind a Starbucks. It is no bigger than a living room. There is a small bar that hugs wall, and there’s a u-shaped counter that surrounds it. There are two fairly large, but separate tables that face towards the bar with leather covered benches that line the other side of the wall. The bar itself is “charming”. Along the walls are jerseys of different japanese ball players, pictures and autographs. There is even a section of game-used helmets from the guys. On the ceiling are sketches of different patrons that visit the place drawn on the bars own beer coasters. There is nothing pretentious about it. It feels like an old worn in hat, and smells like it to.

Yoneno is instantly greeted as we walk in. The owner Hokaji, a bald-headed man with a hilarious and contagious laugh, instantly reminds me of Statler, one of the old hecklers from the “Muppet Show”. We sit down at one of the tables and Yoneno orders us dinner and some “nama biiru”(draft beer). Since I’ve been in Japan I only really consume alcohol when I have an off day the next day. With the amount of work we do, and how quickly I get dehydrated already, last thing I want is to get hurt or be hung over at the field. Not to mention, traveling on the subways is confusing, adding some liquid fun does not equal more fun. As we eat the food, the small bar starts to fill up, there is really only room for about 20 people, many of the patrons know each other and I stick out like a sore thumb. People start getting me to try all the different foods, and “Neno” lets me fend for myself because he’s seen me in action before. I will say, the more stuff you try, especially with foods, the greater your appreciation becomes of certain things you know you like.

I’ve been asked a couple times how I order food in Japan (point and pray). Usually my guide is my eyes. Most menus have the picture of what you’re gonna order. If I can recognize it I’ll order it. If I’m with someone I know I’ll let them order for me. But if I don’t know what I’m ordering I usually just brace for the worst (And believe me I’ve had some things I wish have never entered or left my body). As I’ve mentioned before music in Japan is embraced and loved, pretty much everyone knows every Japanese song ever made. It honestly feels that way. Right now boy bands are big here, like N’Sync and Backstreet Boys times a thousand. All music on MTV here is of some type of girl or boy band (AKB 48!!!!). Luckily Karoake bars don’t sing that too often, and as much as they love it, they also take breaks from it.

Just like in the states, people who sing karaoke like to sing ballads. It’s a great way to show off your vocals and why you’re not actually on a stage somewhere. The entire time people were singing I kept getting egged on to sing. I do like to sing, in fact if I had any other talent besides baseball I wish singing would be it. Sadly my voice sounds like Bob Dylan with a head cold. I do like to dance too, but I’m not Shakira or MJ. The obvious choice for me to sing a song was gonna be something in English, most people in the world that don’t speak English and want an English song will pick something by Michael Jackson. Luckily I love “MJ” (when the “MJ experience” video game came out on Wii, which teaches you try to dance like him to his songs, I picked it up right away, I still remember being in a separate room away from my family and sleeping kids to try it, you can imagine my wife’s face when she saw me dancing in the dark, there may still be a wet spot on the carpet from her seeing me).

So when Hokaji pushed the mic into my hands, the bass line of that famous song “Billie Jean “starting to grab hold of the “nama biiru” rushing in my system, I couldn’t help but start to practice those moves that Wii controller taught me years before.

For those five minutes I don’t know if I was in heaven or in hell. I think somewhere in between but more closer to heaven, luckily the reverb helps my voice quite a bit, but I’m far from capable of hitting the notes MJ hit, let alone in my adolescence. I think the people got what they asked for. Yoneno’s face was bright red from laughing and the “nama”, I got a grand applause from the bar and was graciously welcomed after succeeding (well, kinda) another rite of passage. I’ve been back a couple times since with Yoneno. They let me serve food and drinks now, but keep the mic far away.

Those are my stories, hope you enjoyed them. I did, more or less. Two more months of baseball left, hoping to finish strong and finish season on top, it has been awhile since Lions won the championship. What a great story that would be. I’m gonna do everything I can to make sure that it is written.

Patrick, a third-generation Colorado native, is back for his second stint covering the Rockies. He first covered the team from 2005-2009, helping chronicle “Rocktober” in 2007 and also following the team’s playoff run in 2009.

Nick Groke has worked at The Denver Post since 1997, as a sports reporter, city reporter, entertainment writer and digital editor and producer, among other newsroom posts. He also writes regularly about boxing, soccer, MMA and NASCAR.